


Bikers Against Child Abuse

by Lizzie_Libertine



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - No Zombies, Biker Daryl Dixon, Bikers Against Child Abuse, Daryl Dixon/Rick Grimes Feels, Daryl Dixon/Rick Grimes Smut, Eventual Sex, M/M, POV Daryl Dixon, POV Rick Grimes, POV Third Person, Past Abuse, Prompt Fic, Sex, Sheriff rick, Slow Burn, Slow Burn Daryl Dixon/Rick Grimes, Smut, Tumblr Prompt, affair, baca, biker
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-30
Updated: 2018-07-07
Packaged: 2018-10-25 23:16:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 11,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10774533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lizzie_Libertine/pseuds/Lizzie_Libertine
Summary: A prompt I saw on tumblr and thought I would try."Daryl joining the Bikers Against Child Abuse biker gang and Sophia is the first kid he ever helps protect and Rick is the arresting officer WILL SOMEONE PLEASE"





	1. The first call

Rick ran his hand back through his cropped locks. He looked at the clock and sighed. He had only been at the station for a few hours and already, it felt like an eternity. Sure, he didn't mind quiet days like this, they usually gave him chance to catch up with all that boring paperwork but today, something felt different. Something felt wrong. More than once, he picked up the phone on his desk and held it to his ear, just to make sure it was still connected. Of course, every time, he heard the monotone buzz on the other end and placed it back down with a snap. Why was it so quiet?

He had lived and worked in the same town forever and it was quiet in general but it was never this dull. Pushing back from his desk, he stood up and walked out of his office. In the lobby, he nodded to Shane who was leaning against the wall, reading a paper. Moving over to the reception desk, Rick cleared his throat. The woman at the desk took her glasses off and dropped them so they hung on the beaded chain that hung around her neck. 

"Hey Sherrif, what can I help y'all with?" She asked in a peppy voice that belied the wrinkles that gathered around her lips and eyes. 

Rick placed a polite smile on his lips and asked if there had been any calls for him this morning. He knew Shane was watching him from the corner of his eye. Rick heard the paper rustle and Shane scoff from behind it but he didn't care, if he had stayed locked in that office on his own any longer, he would have gone stir crazy. 

"Well, no Sherrif, I was just saying to Officer Walsh how quiet it was today. I've even had him check the phone lines to make sure they were working." She said.

Rick nodded and turned on his heel, walking back into his office, he swung the door shut but turned back when he didn't hear it snap closed against the wood of the frame. Shane practically took up the entire doorway as he stood there, chewing on an old toothpick.

"It's almost like you want something to happen." Shane chuckled as he folded his arms across his swelling chest.

Blowing out a huff of air, Rick sat down heavily behind his desk and shook his head.

"I just don't understand it. It's never like this. It just feels like the calm before the storm if you ask me." He replied, drumming his fingers on the desk.

Shane shrugged.

"I mean, I can go up and round up some scumbags for ya, if you want something to do. That bar down the road is full of 'em."

Rick scoffed and shook his head again. He knew Shane was only half joking. The guy was his best friend but knew him too well. He was a good cop, scratch that, a great cop but he did have a few anger issues. It was why Rick tended to keep him nearby, just so he could keep an eye on him. Rick knew, even if he just sent Shane into the bar to scope the place out, he would no doubt end up in a pile of broken bar stools and glass.

"Nah, you're alright," he said, standing back up. "Just take the rest of the day off. I'll call you if anything happens."

Shane nodded and slipped out of the office, closing the door behind him. Rick doubted there would be any need to get him back today. Plus, it would do Shane good to go and blow off some steam with that woman he'd been seeing. Of course, he hadn't told Rick anything about it. Usually, he would be shouting it from the rooftops, but this time, it had been different. Rick didn't even know her name, just that she was the most gorgeous woman in the world and it was kind of complicated. He had asked for more details but Shane had been sketchy at best. In the end, Rick had given up and figured, he'd tell him in his own time.

His heart practically skipped a beat when he heard the phone ring. Diving over his desk, he scooped up the handset and pressed it to his ear.

"Sherrif's Office, Sherrif Grimes speaking," he said automatically. 

There was a pause on the other end of the line. Repeating himself, he waited for a few seconds but heard nothing back. Just as he was about to place the receiver back down, he heard a small voice. 

"Hello?" It sounded like a child. "Hello? Is that the police?"

"Who is this? Do you need help?" Rick asked, his pulse beginning to race.

"Please, you have to help me, he keeps hitting him and he won't stop. I'm scared, please help us."

Before Rick could ask another question, the line went dead. Slamming the phone down, he sprinted into the foyer. 

"Arlene, do a trace on that last call, now." 

Pulling his hat and jacket on, he grabbed his gun and shoved it in the holster. In the back of his mind, he knew he should call Shane back, but he was probably home by now and who knew how long it would take to get him back to the station? 

"Arlene, hurry, it's important." He yelled as he yanked the keys off the rack and ran toward the door.

"Alrigh', alrigh'!" She said.

Eventually, he got the address and hopped in his car. Turning the blue and reds on, he sped off down the road. It wasn't far and he knew the place, he'd been there before. It was a family. The dad was an old drunk and when he'd had a few too many, he would take it out on his wife and that poor kid. The woman, Carol, was it? Was a mouse of a woman. The sort who wouldn't say boo to a goose and the kid, Sophia, the same age as his. His nostrils flared as he tightened his grip on the steering wheel. It made him sick to his stomach, but every time they go there, the husband was nowhere to be seen and the woman refused to talk to them.

Pulling up outside the dilapidated old townhouse, he jumped out and bounded up the rickety old steps to the front door. Banging his fist on the shutter, he was surprised to see the door open straight in as though no one had bothered to shut it. There were noises coming from inside, grabbing his gun out, Rick held it in front of him and crept down the hallway.

"I'll fuckin' kill ya'," he heard a raspy voice spit.

Rounding the corner into what he assumed was the living room, Rick stopped and aimed.

"Freeze, Sherrif's department," he shouted.

Carol and Sophia were cowering in the corner, huddled against one another as a big man in a black leather vest had the other man pinned to the ground. He didn't stop or even flinch as he drew his arm up swung it down with such force Rick saw a tooth go flying from the other man's mouth in a spray of blood.

"Please, stop him, he's going to kill him!" Carol screamed, tears running from a completely swollen eye.

"You filthy, disgusting pig," the man in the leather vest continued as he pummeled the husband.

Rick was pretty sure he was unconscious now but the sandy-haired man didn't stop.

"Freeze or I'll shoot!" he warned once more, clicking the safety off on his handgun.

The hand the man on top had up in the air, dropped and his shoulders heaved as he breathed in. A pool of blood was spreading around the husband. Rick placed his gun back in his holster and pulled his handcuffs out. Tackling the man to the floor, he clicked the metal bracelets shut around the guy's thick wrists and rolled him onto his front. He was solid, built of packed muscles that rippled beneath his clothes as he struggled beneath Rick. 

Rick's breath caught in his throat.


	2. Chapter 2

Daryl snorted and pressed his head back against the cold wall. He ignored the goose pimples that burst over his skin. Every time, every fucking time he tried to do something good, he ended up in this God forsaken cess pit. He clicked his tongue, it wasn't the first and probably wasn't the last time he'd be sitting in a prison cell. Usually, he was the sort of guy to mind his own business, but he just couldn't help himself this time. He pressed his teeth into his bottom lip until he felt a slight twinge. What kind of man raised his hand to a woman and a child? What kind of sick bastard would want to do something like that to his own flesh and blood?

An involuntary shudder ran down his spine and Daryl shifted on the concrete bench. Of course, he knew exactly the sort of man who did those sort of things. Most of his childhood had been spent clutching his grotty old teddy bear, locked in a cupboard with Merle. He remembered the screams and the begging as though it were yesterday. His mother shoving him and his brother into the closet as that old drunkard came swaying through the door, just itching for a fight. More than once, Daryl had fallen asleep in the cupboard, tangled in Merle's arms.

She was a small woman, willowy with skin like porcelain. Her dark hair was cropped short, shorter than was the fashion of the day, and was peppered with silver. Daryl's heart bled every time he saw her like that, even if he was just a kid. He wanted to be brave. He wanted to be brave for her. He wanted to swing open the door of the closet and come storming out. He wanted to grab hold of his father and choke the life out of him with his bare hands. But how could he? He was only eight years old. Often, he would implore with Merle to let him out of the cupboard. To let him try anyway, just once. But his brother would clasp onto him, his eyes moist, begging Daryl not to make things worse for mama.

The next morning was always the same. He would wake up alone, swaddled beneath piles of clothes and tiptoe from his hiding place. His mother would be sitting at the kitchen table, pretending to read something in the paper, an extinct cigarette hanging from her bony fingers. When she raised her head, Daryl always knew what he would find. Her eyes, red and swollen with tears and rainbow bruises surrounding them. Sometimes there would be oozing slits in her lips and a blackened crust around her nostrils. He would hesitate when she beckoned him over with an outstretched arm. As much as he wanted to clutch onto her and never let her go, he was frightened she would fracture to pieces beneath his touch. 

Living with a man like that had obviously been too much for her. One day, he woke and she was gone. They all were. Daryl didn't think much of his father being gone, he would be at work and after he would drink until he could barely stand. That was when he stumbled home and things went from bad to worse. Merle would be at school, trying to fit in, pretending like nothing had happened. No one ever told him what happened to her. No one ever told him where she went. His quizzing would be answered with harsh words and fists. Daryl remembered creeping into the kitchen, expecting to see her sitting there in her yellow waitress uniform, but she wasn't. All that remained was the blue wisps of a dying cigarette in the glass tray on the table. 

Daryl gave out a dry cough. Damn, what he wouldn't give for a drag of a fag right now. At least to give him something to do. How long had he been in here? They had to let him go soon, surely. A shuffling of shoes across the hard ground drew Daryl from his thoughts. Leaning forward, he rested his elbows on his knees and clenched his jaw shut. The Sherriff stood on the other side of the bars. His face was tight, despite his few years on Daryl. He was clean shaven and his hair was dark and neatly trimmed. 

Daryl resisted the urge to roll his eyes. This was exactly the type of guy who would become a cop. He was obviously a goody-goody and Daryl was willing to bet he got decent grades in school and was part of the track team. He wet his lips and allowed his eyes to rove over the tall, toned figure of the other man. Yeah, definitely too slight to be a football jock, but obviously liked to keep himself in shape. Daryl blinked rapidly and wriggled in his seat. Where the Hell had that thought come from?

His head snapped up and he narrowed his eyes when he realised he was being spoken to.

"Care to tell me your name yet?" Asked the Sherriff. 

Daryl stared at him and pursed his lips. He was going to tell this guy to fuck off. To tell him that it wasn't any of his business. Maybe he would add go to Hell for good measure, he thought to himself wryly.

"Daryl," he said before he realised the single word had dropped from his lips.

He opened his mouth again to say something else but closed it quickly when he realised he didn't trust himself to say anything that might get him in trouble. The Sherriff nodded his head and leaned a sharp elbow against the dirty iron bar. He kept his clear, blue eyes focused on Daryl. Daryl felt his cheeks grow warm.

"I'm Sherriff Rick Grimes," he said casually. "You can call me Rick if ya like, everyone else does."

Furrowing his brow, Daryl shook his head. Well, this was not what he had been expecting. A kicking, maybe. Mockery of his lowly education and poor diction, yeah. Taking the piss out of his shabby appearance, definitely. But not this. Not kindness and understanding. Not from a cop. Daryl's head swam. He breathed slowly, willing his pulse to slow before he lost consciousness. 

"Daryl, can you tell me what you were doing in Mr Peletier's house?"

"Teachin' him a lesson."

Daryl dropped his head and looked at the blue marks across his knuckles. Some were accented with purple already and others had red gashes over them. He flexed his hand but felt little in the way of pain. When he looked back up, he expected to see anger or frustration on the Sherriff's face, but there wasn't. His eyes were wide and his mouth curved downward. 

"And what lesson would that be, Daryl?" Rick asked, cocking his head a little. 

"Pick on someone your own size," Daryl answered.


	3. Chapter 3

Rick pushed open the door and stepped into the hallway. Shucking from his heavy jacket with a sigh, he placed it on the hook hanging on the wall and placed his wide rimmed hat on top. Really, it had been a fairly easy day but his head swam and his stomach ached. He didn't know what it was. He ran his hand across his face and pressed himself back aginst his front door. He'd come across a lot like Daryl in his time on the force and the story was always the same. Rough upbringing, with even rougher parents, if any and an overwhelming sense of needing to belong but not actually knowing how to. Daryl wasn't that much younger than himself but he just seemed so child-like when Rick had seen him sitting there in that cold, damp cell alone. 

Closing his eyes and frowning, Rick wondered what he would do if his son turned out the same. What if Carl decided to embark on a life of crime? Rick felt a sharp pain in his heart. His Carl. His little boy who was barely eight years old. He knew the only difference between his son and an eight-year-old Daryl was a few poor choices. Sniffing, Rick swiped at the tear that welled in the corner of his eye and groaned. If only someone could get to these kids before they found their way into the seedy underworld of criminal gangs and drugs. Rick straightened and rolled his sleeves up to his elbows when he heard the pitter-patter of little feet come charging up passageways toward him.

Carl's little face was lit up with a huge smile and his glossy, overgrown brown locks blew back as he ran toward his dad. His arms were out and he was giggling in a high-pitched squeal. RIck beamed and scooped the boy up into his arms and placed a kiss on his forehead. Placing him back on the floor, he took his small hand in his own and allowed Carl to lead him through the house into the kitchen. 

"How was work, daddy?" Carl asked as he clambered up onto one of the wooden chairs in the middle of the room.

"Oh, it was good," he lied, trying to animate his voice despite how tired he was. "I got lots of work done."

"Wow, did you catch lots of baddies?" The boy quizzed as he coloured in a picture.

Rick narrowed his eyes and folded his arms across his chest. There it was again. That cold ache in his gut. The feeling of wanting to take his son in his arms and wanting to squeeze him tight and never let him go. In his head, he saw the slumped over figure of Daryl Dixon on the stone bench, blood still running from his knuckles and sweat drying on his brow.

"Not quite..." Rick began, trying to phrase the swirling mass of thoughts and emotions that were pooling in his head as carefully as he could. 

Suddenly, his little boy's dark eyes were on him, piercing into his soul. Rick looked away and busied himself with removing his boots.

"But, that's your job, isn't it, daddy? You catch the bad guys and you put them away. Away from me and mummy, so were safe?"

Standing, Rick sighed and walked over to his son. Running his hands through his silken locks, he placed a quick kiss on the top of his head.

"That's right buddy. That's my job as a cop and a daddy," Rick agreed with a nod and a small smile.

Carl grinned and went back to his drawing. In front of him, spread across the table was a dozen sheets of paper, each with a picture scrawled on it. Crayons were everywhere and some had rolled off across the floor but Rick couldn't help but smile. He loved this time of day. He loved coming home to his son and his wife. His wife. Wait a minute? Where was Lori? Rick asked his son who just shrugged and carried on with his artwork. 

Collecting up his boots, Rick padded up the stairs. He heard the running of water and the smell of his wife's delicate floral soap filled his nostrils. He felt a slight flutter in his stomach as he stepped onto the top landing. Rick began to unbutton his shirt and pulled the stiff material free from his trousers. Next, he unpopped the button of his trousers and pulled down the zip. Stepping out of them, he stepped into the room. He could hear the slightly out of tune singing of his wife. Grinning, he pulled his undershirt up over his head and allowed it to fall to the floor. Carl was occupied enough with his colouring, right? 

Small wisps of steam seeped out from around the edge of the door of the en-suite that was stood ajar. Rick felt a tingle run down his spine. His boxers were beginning to tent already. Pulling himself free from them, he sighed as the cool air lapped at his engorged manhood. Tiptoeing into the bathroom, he pulled open the glass door and stepped in behind Lori.

Spinning on her heel, pressing her hand against the wet tiles next to her, Lorie stared at him with wide eyes. He lips were agape and she was a white as a sheet. Rick allowed his eyes to focus on her lily-white throat where he heart was thrumming like a hummingbird beneath her skin. 

"My God Rick, you scared the life out me. What the Hell are you playing at?" She spat, fire burning his her eyes.

Rick blinked and step backward as she placed a long, slender arm across her pert, little breasts and spread her hand across her nether regions to hide them from his gaze. 

"I'm sorry, I just thought you might like some company," he replied.

"Company?" She said, raising a perfectly shaped eyebrow. "I'm perfectly capable of showering on my own. If you need to wash you can wait until I'm done."

Heat began to rise in Rick's cheeks as he too placed his hands over his privates. 

"And, whatever you were planning on doing with that-" she added, pointing to his still swollen cock, "will not be involving me."

With that, she stepped from the shower cubical and grabbed a towel. Wrapping it around her slim frame quickly, she gave her husband one last, narrow eyes stare before storming from their en-suite and slamming the door behind her. Rick scrunched his eyes shut as he felt the walls around him shudder. Groaning loudly, he stepped under the hot stream of water, allowing it to flatten his tight curls and run a river down his aching back. He stared down at his stiff prick and rolled his eyes. There was a time, not so long ago that Lori would have jumped his bones. It seemed nowadays, when she wasn't too busy to be intimate with him, she just wasn't in the mood.

He frowned and shook his head. He guessed this was just one of those times. Taking his erection in his grip, he slid his hand up and down the hard length of flesh and pressed his teeth into his bottom lip to stop himself from moaning aloud.


	4. Chapter 4

Daryl leaned against the bar. His head was throbbing and his knuckles were still bruised but he couldn't bare to spend another hour locked in his crappy bedsit. He wasn't the most social of creatures but being left alone with his own thoughts seemed to be a worse idea at the moment. He scrubbed his grotty, rough hands across his face and brushed his hair back. It was only three in the afternoon and already, the dank bar was half full.

He knew them all, of course, it hadn't been long but he'd been taken under the wing of the Biker's Against Child Abuse. Most of them were old men without wives or anything better to do but Daryl couldn't help but wish there had been an organization like this when he was a child. He could just imagine the look on his father's face when a herd of burly, hairy beasts came barging through the door and gave him a taste of his own medicine. He wrinkled his nose. Well, it was a little too late for that, but it made him feel a little better about the world knowing there was a group of people willing to help the less fortunate.

He'd just been minding his own business, cruising down the road when he'd spotted the old bar. He'd lived around here all his life and he'd never really noticed it. Then again, he didn't really frequent places where there would be other people. If he was going to get blackout drunk, which he liked to do a lot, he would rather do it at home, on his own. The place looked more like an old barn with wooden planks coming loose and the windows painted dark with thick, uneven paint. Pulling up next to the fleet of other hogs, he climbed off his bike and wandered in.

Upon entrance, he half expected the punters to round on him and tell him to sling his look, but he was surprised when he received nothing but a few nods and half smiles. At the time, he didn't know anyone, he had always made a point of keeping himself to himself, so that wasn't much of a surprise. He watched with curiosity as huge men, with great big beer guts, chatted amongst themselves like mother hens. Daryl blinked rapidly, maybe he was imagining it, but he began to feel a warm feeling in his stomach, like when he was tiny and his mother would tuck him into bed and sing him a lullaby.

Without another word, he had charged out the door, jumped on his bike and rode home. But, it hadn't been long until he felt the overwhelming urge to return. His second time was a little more successful. It wasn't particularly late, but like today, there were lots of people milling around. He eyed them with a cocked head. Most of them wore dirty old, stone washed jeans and the men were pretty much all topless, despite their physical fitness (or therefore lack of it) but all of them seemed to have a black leather jacket or vest with a symbol on the back.

It was a red oval with a white fist inside which read BACA across the knuckles. He didn't know what it stood for at the time. He just assumed it was another biker gang, determined to intimidate anyone who didn't ride. Lots of them had it tattooed on their arms or chests too and Daryl noticed, so did the women. In the bar, there were two types of women. Some were overweight and wore the same as the men, their helmets hanging from the chairs they sat in as they necked lagers. The others were slim and beautiful with more flesh showing. Their hair was long and dyed unnatural colours but their skin was also inked. He supposed theses were the girls that go the lifts on the back like the models in the movies. 

He had been sitting at the bar, nursing his bourbon when a big man with grey, wiry hair and a huge handlebar mustache had approached him. Daryl had seen him the first time he'd visited, surrounded by the rest of them, relaying some incredibly humorous story that seemed to have them all in stitches. He pulled a tall stool up next to Daryl and plonked himself down with a sigh. He looked at him, his large brown eyes twinkled in the low light. 

"What brings ya' here, kid?" He asked in the thickest southern accent Daryl had ever heard.

Daryl swallowed a mouthful of the amber nectar from his glass and sucked his teeth.

"Just needed a night cap," he lied, trying not to look at the other man.

The old man chuckled.

"It's not even five o'clock," he noted to Daryl as he ordered himself a pint. "But, I know sleepless nights do to a man. So, does it help?"

Daryl couldn't help himself, he turned to look at the grey haired man. He narrowed his eyes but didn't answer.

"The booze, does it help you sleep?" he asked again.

"Not really," Daryl shrugged, standing up.

"Where are you goin'?"

"I gotta get home," Daryl answered shortly.

"Why, so you can not sleep?" 

Despite himself, Daryl cracked a smile, probably the first in over a month. In fact, it had been his first interaction with anyone other than the mirror in just as long. 

"Listen, me and the boys were just about to write ourselves up a list, why don't you come and help? We could use the help and you look like you could use the company. What's your name, son?"

Daryl blinked at the tattooed hand being held out toward him. His name? It had been so long since someone had asked him that. Most people didn't care. They just saw a guy, in leather, riding a noisy bike and wrote him off as trouble. He swallowed and answered. The guy's hand was so large, it covered his own entirely. Daryle felt a warmth spread across his chest. 

"Cool, nice to meet y'all Daryl, I'm Stitch. They call me that 'coz I sew families back together," Stitch said with a broad smile. 

Stitch had introduced him to everyone in the bar and by the end of the night, he knew all of their names too. They told him all about their organisation. Daryle stared at Stitch with wide eyes when he'd first told him about their aim to protect as many families as they could. They just didn't look like the type. He rolled his eyes to himself, then again, how many times had he been judged harshly just based on the way he looked?

Daryl was brought from his memories when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned on his heel.

"Hey kid, what's up? Haven't seen you for a few days."

Stitch smiled at him but Daryl could see the worry painted in his eyes.

"Had a lot going on," Daryl lied.

Stitch frowned but nodded. 

"I hear they took you in for what you did."

Daryl nodded and dropped his head to his chest. He felt guilt percolating in his stomach. Again, he felt a warm hand on his shoulder.

"Hey, it's alrigh' kid. I know how hard it is to keep your cool when you're faced with monsters like that Peletier guy, but violence is never the answer. Next time, take someone with ya," Stitch said softly. "Anyway, can't flog a dead horse, let's get a drink."


	5. Chapter 5

"Why don't you head home early today? You're always giving Officer Walsh extra time off, do something for yourself for once," Arlene smiled from behind her gold rimmed glasses.

Rick glanced at her and ran his hand across his face. He was tired and he had been putting all those extra shifts to save up for that little holiday he wanted to surprise Lori and Carl with. Stretching his arms above his head, he let out a long sigh. Well, going home a few hours early wouldn't hurt, he reasoned silently in his head.

"Go on, Sheriff, spend some time with your wife and be there when Carl gets in from school, it'll be a nice lil' surprise for him," Arlene smiled sweetly, pulling her glasses from her face and allowing them to drop to the beaded chain she wore around her neck.

Smiling, Rick stood up. 

"You know what Arlene, you're right. I could do with the rest too," Rick said, convinced.

Arlene nodded her head and stood up also. Walking over to the coat hook, she pulled down the heavy brown Sheriff's jacket and brought it over to Rick. Taking it with a wink, he grabbed his hat off the desk and placed it on his head.

"Now, you sure you're gonna be alright here, on your own?" Rick asked, moving toward the door.

Honestly, if she had said she didn't want to stay there without him, he would have stayed but he was praying silently that she was happy to let him go. Now she had said it, he could think of nothing else. Arlene made a sound like an air bed being let down and waved her hands in the air, making her patterned cardigan a blur of lurid colours.

"I'll be fine Sheriff, I practically run this place anyway," she joked with a sparkle in her eyes.

Rick chuckled, holding his hands up in the air.

"Alrigh', alrigh' boss lady, I get it, you don't need me," Rick said, still grinning. "But y'all got my number if you need anything, righ'?"

Arlene rolled her eyes and nodded her head briskly.

"Yes, yes, I'll call you if anything terrible happens, now off y'all scoot!" She demanded, ushering him out the door.

Rick hopped in his car. The day was warm and the sun was still high in the sky. Maybe he could take Lori and Carl for a picnic in the park. He checked his watch before turning on the engine. Yeah, the kid would be home from school in about an hour, that would give him a little time to get acquainted with Lori in a husbandly fashion first, then make a little lunch for them all too. Unable to keep the smile from his face, he drove down the road.

Stopping at the little convenience store on the way home, he got some cakes and some juice. Carl was going to be so pleased with Rick's choices, he was sure. The cakes were chocolate with a thick layer of creamy icing on top and the juice was mango and orange, his favourite. Turning into the next aisle, he looked at the fruits. They all looked so plump and delicious, he didn't know which one to pick. Eventually settling on a punnet of strawberries, Lori's favourite, he made his way back to the front of the store. Rick stopped just as he walked past the chillers. Well, it wouldn't be a picnic if there wasn't something for everyone, would it? Turning on his heel, he walked toward the fridge and pulled open the door. Grabbing a six pack of beer, he took them over to the counter. The store clerk made small talk as she rang up the items to which Rick nodded politely, not really taking in any of what the young girl was saying. 

Once again in the car, he placed the items on the seat next to him and pulled out onto the road. His face was still split in two with a wide smile. There was bread at home, he was thinking peanut butter and jelly sandwiches sounded good. He would fill them nice and high too. It would be delightful. Rick wondered why more people didn't go on picnics. It was a cheap, past time that everyone enjoyed. Yeah, he nodded to himself, picnics were definitely underappreciated in today's society.

His smile wavered a little when he drove past the Peletier house. Staring into his rearview mirror, he chewed his bottom lip as the house filtered away behind him, into the distance. That poor kid. It broke his heart every time he thought about what she went through with that ogre for a father but if Carol wasn't willing to speak out against him, there was nothing the Sheriff's department could do. He shook his head, although he was on his own. He'd been called there so many times and each time he went, it was getting harder and harder to keep his cool when faced with that sorry excuse for a man.

If it was down to Rick, he would have been locked up a long time ago and Carol and Sophia would be living a much happier and safer life. A strange tingle ran up his spine. As much as he hated to admit it, he was kind of glad that Daryl had given him a good beating before Rick had got there last time. It was less than he deserved and had Rick not had the job of Sheriff to worry about, he would have liked to give him a few swift kicks to face as well. He wiggled his fingers, realising he'd been gripping the steering wheel so hard that they had turned a ghostly shade of white. 

Rick shifted in his seat as goose pimples rippled across his skin. He wondered what happened to Daryl since the incident. Once he was released, he'd not seen him or even heard anything about him. He had half expected Daryl to go back to the Peletier house and finish the job he'd started. He wet his lips. He half wished it too. Rick blinked. What the Hell? Who thought like that? Violence was not the answer, his entire career depended on that fact. So, what reason could he possibly have for wanting Daryl to go back there?

Swallowing the dry lump in his throat, Rick pulled onto his road. He could just see his house in the distance. The sight alone brought a small smile to his lips as he remembered once again where he was going and what he was planning. The weight on his shoulder's lifted slightly at the thought of Carl's little face lighting up when he answered the door to him. Driving closer, he narrowed his eyes. Someone was parked in his spot. Ugh, what a pain in the ass. There was plenty of other spaces in the street. Pulling up across the road, he climbed out of the car and walked toward the black hatchback in his drive. His pulse quickened. It was Shane's car. Shit, something had to be wrong. Sweat began to bead on his brow as he tore it down the path and swung open the front door. His knees shook as he shouted his wife's name. 

Nothing could have prepared Rick for what met his eyes.


	6. Chapter 6

Fuck. Fuck. FUCK!

Rick swiped his hand's down against the bard rubber of the steering wheel. He wailed as the contact made his skin burn and his bones shudder but it was nothing compared to the searing in his chest. His head was swimming and his face was wet with tears. Fuck. How could Lori do that to him? How could Shane? He tried to suck air into his burning lungs, but the more he huffed, the more light headed he became. He clenched his jaw tight and allowed himself to slump back against the car seat. He was still on his road, outside his house.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his front door open. The slim figure of his wife stepped outside. Her reddened eyes were pinned on him, inside the car as she stepped cautiously toward the road. Her hair was still a birds-nest where just moment's ago, Shane's huge hand had been tangled in it. Her clothes, that she'd clearly just jumped back into, were wrinkled where they'd been strewn across the floor of their living room. The fucking bitch. She hadn't even waited to get to the bedroom. Not even her and Rick had christened their living room like that. Rick scrunched his face up, breathing heavily out of his dripping nose.

Her feet were bare and despite what Rick had just witnessed between her and his oldest friend, he still wanted to tell her to put some shoes on in case she hurt her feet. Rick rolled his eyes to himself. That was probably the reason he was in this position in the first place. Lori had always been the girl who liked the bad boys. She had insisted when Rick had first asked her out in high school that was just too nice and that wasn't what she was into. Of course, after months of pursuing her, she had agreed to go on a date with him and the rest, as they say in books, was history. Rick scoffed. History. This fucking marriage definitely was now. How dare she? How fucking dare he?

Rick narrowed his eyes at Shane who came to the door. His hulking chest was still exposed. Their faces were both still flushed with their extra-curricular activities. Bile rose in Rick's throat. Shane called out something to Lori, Rick couldn't hear them from inside the car, but he saw her turn back to face the house. Her arms waved as she responded to the man with his arms folded across his chest. His face was unreadable and perhaps Rick imagined it, but he was sure there was a glimmer in his Officer's eyes. The same sparkle he got when they finished a drugs bust with three arrests and fifty kilos of heroin. Once again, Lori was walking toward him. 

Sucking hair past his teeth, Rick jabbed the key into the ignition and twisted it. Crunching the gears into drive, he pulled out from his parking he car jolted with a screech as the nose end smashed into the rear of Shane's car. Now he could hear them. Lori was screaming his names as she crawled out from the mud and Shane was running toward his car, his hands balled into fists that he was no doubt ready to use on Rick, Reversing, Rick pulled back out into the road and shot off. The glass that sprinkled across the road sparkled in his rear view mirror as Shane and Lori became smaller and smaller.

Rick drove. He didn't know where he was going and he didn't care. He just wanted to put as much distance between those lying cheats and himself. Rick wet his lips, his mind was still a hot mess of images of their Shane and Lori's bodies slipping against one another, drenched in sweat. Pulling himself up in his seat, he looked at the damage on the front of his car. Smoke was seeping from the buckled bonnet hood. Rick groaned and smacked his hand against the steering wheel. The car limped down the road, its engine making a whiny sound like an injured cat. It wasn't going to get much further. 

Pulling up against the pavement, he took a few deep breaths. The engine died before Rick even had a chance to turn it off. The fog of rage was clearing from his mind and the familiar feeling of cold guilt welled in the pit of his stomach. Resting his head in his hands, he allowed more tears to flow down his cheeks until his shirt was drenched with them. His eyes burned and his head felt like a drum being pounded. Wiping his nose on his shirt sleeve, he straightened up and looked around. The sun still shone brightly and he realised he was on the main road out of town, but he didn't realise he'd driven that far. 

Rick's eyes dropped to the seat next to him. His groceries were still sitting next to him, including the six beers. They glinted with condensation as the golden sun penetrated the chipped windscreen. Chewing his bottom lip, Rick reached his hand out and grabbed one of the bottles. It was cool against his palm. Rolling the cold glass against his forehead, he sighed as his burning skin cooled. His pulse was beginning to revert back to a normal pace and he breathed a little easier. Of course, he still felt disgusted. Not only with Lori and Shane for betraying him like that, but also for the way he reacted. Not to mention the fact he hadn't realised what had been going on right under his nose.

Shane had always been open about his sexual conquests, but he'd been shady about his new lady this time. The puzzle pieces were beginning to slot into position as he thought about how the two of them had been behaving recently. In fact, it hadn't just been recently. How long had it been going on for? Was this the first time? Rick twisted open the lid of the cheap beer and swigged down half the contents in one gulp. Throwing the metal cap behind him, he drank down the rest of the beer and pulled out the next one. Fuck it and fuck them. 

Rick wasn't big on drinking. He'd seen far too many families torn apart by the legal drug in his time on the force but he couldn't help himself at that moment. Afterall, what else did he have to do now? His skin prickled and his ears buzzed a little and before he knew it, he'd finished 5 of the little bottles. Dropping the last into the footwell of the car, he pushed open the door and stepped out. His legs were a little woozy and his eyes blurred a little but he wasn't anywhere near as drunk as he wanted to be. Pulling his sheriff's shirt off revealing his white t shirt, he pulled it free from his waist band and pulled up his trousers. It wouldn't do wandering around town in his uniform pissed. Even if everyone did know him anyway. 

Slinging the old shirt back into the car, he reached in and grabbed the last bottle and opened it. Taking slower sips now, Rick shielded his eyes and looked around. There was a little convenience store just a little down the road. Rick ignored the looks of parent's walking their kid's home from school as he wandered down the road. Fuck them. All he wanted to do was grab a nice big bottle of whiskey. Reaching the door, Rick allowed three kids to scoot out of the shop before he stepped in. He stared at the wall of amber filled bottles for what felt like a lifetime before grabbing the biggest one there was and taking it to the counter.

Chewing at the hang nail on his thumb, Rick ignored the inquisitive gaze of the shop boy as he rang up the price. Throwing a couple of $20s on the desk, Rick didn't wait for his change as he bolted from the store, back out onto the street. Holding the bottle up in the air, Rick stared at it and wet his lips. Damn, he forgot to get a bag and he wasn't going to wander the streets swigging a bottle of JD like some wineoh. Back at his car, Rick opened the door and put the bottle in. 

He had two choices, drink in his car, alone, with his own thoughts. Or find somewhere he could drink with enough noise to dsitact him from his own wallowing. He didn't want to talk to anyone, but he didn't want silence eitther. Sighing and running a hand over his face, he locked up his crumpled up car and began walking until he came across a grotty old bar with a bunch of motorcycles parked out front.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all my readers so far who have shown me lots of love and encouragement <3  
> You rock!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very short update as I'm busy busy busy at the moment.
> 
> Thanks to all readers/ commenters/ kudossers.
> 
> You rock <3

Daryl put his glass on the counter and waved to the barmaid for another. Within moments another two fingers of whiskey appeared and he threw a note on the counter. Taking his glass over to a quiet corner, he sat down on a stool and kicked his legs out. There weren't that many people in the bar but it was busy enough for him to feel like he wasn't on his own. 

Damn, he'd never much been one for company but since his brother, Merle had left to work at the steel works, he felt like he was slowly losing his mind all day at home. He was glad to see Stitch every now and then and the guys were nice but there was something they couldn't give him, not that he was entirely sure what that was. They seemed to know when to leave him alone too. He shrugged and took a swig of his drink. Well, no one was bothering him so he guessed it was one of those days.

The door clattered open and the several people jumped from their seats turning in the direction of the noise. He narrowed his eyes, it would take a lot more than that to frighten him after the way his drunken father would come smashing into the house at night. Daryl put his glass on the beer mat and turned round to see what the commotion was. He froze and his heart gave a painful jolt.

Leaning against the door was a tall man with dark curly hair. He was slim but well built. His trousers were dark brown with a strip down the side and his white t-shirt was stained. Daryl stood up and walked toward the crowd gathering around the man.

"Look, we ain't done anything, why don't y'all leave us alone?" Said one woman with a snarl.

Daryl couldn't help himself. Pushing past a few people, he walked toward the man and stopped. He folded his arms across his chest and took a deep breath. It was the Sherriff. His skin prickled and he could feel everyone's eyes burning into the back of his head. The Sherriff didn't look too good, his wobbled precariously on his feet and Daryl saw the bottle of booze in his hand.

He felt a dull ache in his gut. What the hell had happened? He's seen people leaving this place in a similar state but not this early in the day and they certainly weren't law enforcement.

"Don't y'all have your own bars, or are you just here to cause trouble?" Piped up a man that Daryl didn't recognise.

"Hey, it's a free country," Daryl replied, not turning to look at the man.

The Sherriff's bloodshot eyes snapped to Daryl. His lips were curved into a frown.

"Well, he can't come in here with that anyway," said another man beside Daryl. He was pointing at the bottle of whiskey in the Sherriff's hand.

Daryl nodded and turned to face the crowd.

"You're righ'."

Stepping forward, Daryl took the bottle from the Sherriff's hand and walked out of the bar. The road was quiet and the sun was beginning to dim. He turned back to see the crowd had gone back to their seats but the Sherriff was still staring at him shifting foot to foot. Daryl swallowed the lump in his throat, he didn't even know what he was doing. He never got involved with anyone else business. It was just asking for trouble.

"Ya commin'?" Daryl asked gruffly.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another quick one. Everyone is so sweet <3

Rick narrowed his eyes and cocked his head. Where was he going? And more importantly, where was he going with his bottle of whiskey? Cheeky bastard. Rick stumbled a few footsteps forward but gathered pace to catch up with Daryl although he wasn't sure if he knew Rick was still behind him. He didn't even know why he was following him. Every fibre of his being screamed out for him to stop. He knew he should have turned round and found himself a motel for the night. No good decisions were ever made under the influence of half a bottle of whiskey.

"Wait," he called. "Wait, Daryl. Where are you going?"

Daryl stopped a few paces ahead of him. His back was straight and a light sheen of sweat glistened on his exposed arms. Slowly, he turned around with his jaw clenched.

"What did you call me?" Daryl asked, his clear blue eyes widening.

Rick stopped and blinked. He huffed in a few lungfuls of oxygen and waved his hand in the air.

"Daryl," he repeated. "That is your name, right?"

Suddenly, his cheeks grew warm and his tongue went dry. Shit. Had he called him by the wrong name? Rick gave a dry cough and ran his hand back through his curls. No, he definitely hadn't. His name was Daryl, Daryl Dixon. What was he getting so worked up about? The silence swelled around them as Daryl took a step forward.

"Yeah, that's my name," he finally answered.

Rick let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. He opened his lips to speak again but closed them when Daryl held a hand up.

"What I want to know is, how do you remember who I am?"

Rick chewed at his bottom lip. What was he getting at? Folding his arms across his chest, he shifted his weight onto his other foot.

"I arrested you a few months back, remember?"

Rick regretted the words instantly when Daryl's eyes flashed and he bared his teeth.

"Right, you always memorised the names of people you bring in." Daryl hissed.

Stepping back, Rick raised his hands and shook his head. 

"I-uh-" he stammered.

But Daryl was right. Half of the time, he could barely remember the names of his team on the force and he worked with them every day. His pulse raced. He remembered Daryl's name easily. He remembered his face, his eyes and his lips. He remembered the black leather vest with the angel wings and the dirty boots. 

"I get it, I look like trouble so I must be trouble, right?" Daryl scoffed, placing the bottle of whiskey on the wall.

"What? No, of course no-" 

"Nah, it's fine, I get it. Y'all the one wandering the streets drunk, but I'm the criminal."

Rick's jaw dropped and his eyes stung. He wanted to say something, anything but he couldn't form the words. He stepped forward, his hands out but stopped when Daryl snarled and stepped back. He didn't think any of those things. Not at all. But something had made the young man stay in his mind all this time. Why had he remembered him so well? Why had he remembered that gruff voice? Why had he remembered that smell of sandal wood and vintage leather? 

"C'mon," Daryl continued. "Tell me."

Tears rolled down Rick's cheeks and he tried to breathe but he couldn't. He groaned as he collided with the ground and blackness swallowed him.


	9. Chapter 9

Rick awoke with a start. He clutched at his throbbing head and groaned as he rolled over. His clothes were damp and the smell of mildew filled his nose. His eyes flickered open and although it was dark he hissed and covered them. What the hell? Where was he? What the fuck had happened? 

Rolling over, bile rose in his throat as his stomach rolled. Pressing a hand to his mouth, he swallowed hard past the acrid taste that clung to his tongue. Eugh. He'd not felt like this since... Since... Well, since ever. Rick had been drunk before, sure but he'd never experienced such a debilitating hangover.

He pressed his hands to the floor, ignoring the sharp stones that pressed into his palms as he pushed himself up. Leaning against the cold wall, he pressed his head back and clenched his jaw. The world was spinning around him and no matter how hard he pressed his boots to the ground, it didn't stop.

Rick's heart sped up when he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. He scrubbed his hand across his face and grimaced as he focused his bleary eyes. His breath hitched when his gaze dropped to a man sitting on the wall. One of his denim-clad legs was hitched up next to him and an almost empty bottle of whiskey hung from his hand. 

Daryl? Fuck. Daryl. Suddenly, tears rolled down his wind nipped cheeks as memories flooded back to him. Rick covered his face with his hands and whimpered. He knew Daryl's eyes were on him as he took down another swig of the bottle. Daryl sucked his teeth and placed the bottle down on the wall next to him. Hopping up, he wiped his hands down his jeans and walked toward Rick.

Craning his aching neck up, Rick squinted at Daryl.

"What happened?'" Rick asked, his voice quivering. 

Daryl chewed at the inside of his lip for a moment.

"Was gonna ask ya the same thing," he said, holding his hand out. 

Rick looked at the outstretched hand and blinked. He remembered stumbling to the bar. He remembered Daryl telling the others to back off but everything else was a blur. He was snapped from his thoughts when Daryl forced a dry cough. He was still holding his hand out.

Stretching, Rick took hold of Daryl's hand. He suppressed a gasp when he felt the warmth of the other man's skin against his chilled flesh. Goose pimples rippled up his arms and sweat beaded on his brow. Heaving himself up with Daryl's help, he nodded his head but pulled his hand away as though he'd been burned.

Daryl narrowed his eyes but said nothing.


	10. Chapter 10

Daryl straightened his leather vest and stretched his back. His cheeks burned and he was glad it was just dark enough that no one, namely Rick, could see the red glow of his skin. Coughing into his hand, although he didn't need to, he stepped backward and looked up to the sky. It was inky black and prickled with silver stars. He stopped and breathed deeply. Man, it had been so long since he had looked at the stars, he had almost forgotten how beautiful they were.

"What ya lookin' at?" Rick asked.

Stiffening when he heard the shuffle of fabric, Daryl dropped his gaze to see that Rick was next to him once again. He was still swaying on his feet and his cop uniform was covered in fuck knew what but he at least looked a little better than he had when he had stumbled into the bar a few hours ago. 

"Nothin'," Daryl answered, wetting his lips.

Once again, he stepped away from the Sherriff. The brisk wind did nothing to disguise the spicy scent of Rick's skin. Daryl shook his head hard, attempting to clear the fog that swelled in his mind. Who thought about things like that? Who thought about other guys like that? 

"I gotta go," he said, turning on his heel.

From behind him, he heard a slight noise of protest from Rick but he didn't stop as he stalked off. He had to get home. He had to get away from Rick. He didn't know what it was, he didn't care what it was. All he knew was that feeling like this got you in trouble. The Sherriff was married for fuck sake. It wasn't something Daryl made a habit of looking for, but he had noticed the thick band of gold around the ring finger of the Sherriff's left hand the first time he had laid eyes on him.

Tugging at the ends of his overgrown hair with both hands, he groaned aloud as he sped up down the abandoned street. There were no lights on int he houses nearby and Daryl guessed it was probably 2AM. Great, 2AM. Like that made a difference, he wasn't going to sleep tonight anyway. He tutted. Rick was probably going to crawl home, tail between his legs and apologise to his wife for whatever he had done. Daryl stuffed his hands in his pocket. He could just imagine the sort of woman that Rick was married to. She was probably beautiful and kind. She probably had his dinner waiting for him the moment he got in for work and made him packed lunches for work.

Pressing his hand against his chest, Daryl crushed his eyes shut.The thought of blissful marriage wasn't something he knew much about. Any woman who had put up with him for more than a month had eventually left and his parents were nothing to base it on. He thought about how happy Rick and his model wife probably were. He thought about their sweet lovemaking and their tender touches. He thought about their coy smiles and rosy blushes toward each other and he hated it, but most of all, Daryl hated himself for hating something so beautiful.


	11. Chapter 11

Rick's eyes flickered open and he brushed his hand across his face. Sweat clung to his brow and the air he breathed was hot. His head was ringing and there was a buzzing In his ears. He was getting too damn old for this shit. His knees burned where they had been bent up to fit onto the back seat of his car. His neck screamed when he rolled his head on his shoulders. Three days, three fucking days he'd been sleeping in his car. Pulling himself up, he hissed as his body cried out at the unfamiliar movement. He didn't even really know why he was the one sleeping rough. Lori had been the one in the wrong. She should have been the one being punished. He sighed and closed his eyes against the morning sun beaming through the window. He knew the angry thoughts were nothing more than that. Despite what his wife had done to him, he would never even dream of making her suffer like he was. Then again, he wouldn't have fucked her best friend in the first place.

Reaching fro the door, Rick flicked the lock open and pushed the door open. The car smelt of body odour and Christ knew what else and if he had to breath another breath of his own stench, he was going to puke. Flopping his head out the door, he heaved in a lungful of air. It was fresh and sweet and possibly the best sensation he had felt in ages, well besides the initial feeling as he swigged down the whiskey he bought. Placing his feet on the car floor, he kicked three bottles out of the way. He raised his eyebrows as he stared at the glass that rolled across the grimy carpet. Rick wasn't the biggest drinker in the world. In fact, he had probably drank more in the past week than he had in his entire adult life. He had never understood why people relied on alcohol so much but as the memories of Lori and Shane's sweaty naked bodies filled his thoughts, it made more sense to him. Every swig he took burned away the images, if only for a little while. Of course, every morning, they were back, accompanied by a killer hang over. 

Pulling himself out of the car, he flung his arms above his head and groaned loudly as he eased the kinks out of his head. It was chilly but after being in that sweat box, the change was welcome. He looked around, shielding his eyes from the glare of the sun. He knew where he was, but he didn't remember getting there. A tinny taste appeared in his mouth and his stomach rolled. How many times had he picked up drunk drivers? How many times had he sneered at them for being so irresponsible? How many times had he locked their asses away, wishing he could leave them in there to rot? Well, now he was no better. Rick, the Sherriff, was no better than a common criminal. He clicked his tongue and rolled his eyes. He wasn't really sure that he cared any more. All his life he had done what he was told. He'd studied hard in school, kept his nose clean and treated everyone with respect, no matter who they were. And what had that got him? 

"Nothin'" he said to himself although there was no one there to hear it.

The car was parked, skewwhiff in the middle of the dirt track. A few trees lined the edges of the make shift road and the only sounds were the birds cheeping in the branches. There was no one around but that wasn't really a surprise. the place had a few abandoned log cabins a few hundred feet into the tree line and the only people who frequented the area were college kids looking for a place to party on summer evenings. Rick felt a familiar pressure in his bladder. Pulling his crumpled jeans up, he stalked into the trees. The ground was soft and the smell of wet leaves filled his nostrils as he made his way toward the nearest cabin. Every few yards, he stepped over an empty beer can until he came to a small clearing where the cabin stood. He pursed his lips, it looked as though it would fall down at any minute and every foot of the small shack was covered with graffiti. Making his way toward the door, he stopped and looked down. 

The steps leading up to the entrance were word and most of the planks had snapped. Pressing his foot against one, the step groaned before falling through. Yeah, fuck that he thought to himself. Wandering round the edge of the cabin, he unbuckled his trousers and pulled out his cock. Rick stopped suddenly and looked down. He was surprised to see he was half hard. Oh well, he thought, that'll probably disappear soon. Pressing his hand against the damp wooden wall, he relieved himself with a sigh, making sure to hold tight so his erection didn't flick up and hose him down. Ah, the first piss of the morning after a heavy night was always the best. Rick smiled and the action felt foreign. He'd been wearing a perpetual frown recently that he was almost forgotten how to lift his lips. He shook away the last drips but his cock was still hard as a rock. Dropping his resting hand, he glanced around, knowing there would be no one around.

Pressing his teeth into his bottom lip, he slid his hand along the length of his shaft. Oh god, that felt good. He brought his hand back and did the same thing again. He shivered slightly when his fingers brushed the bell of his head. Wetting his lips, he sped up, moaning aloud. His mind wanted to think of Lori. Of her slim line figure and pert breasts, but he forced those images away. He looked down and focused on his own hand, running up and down his prick. His helmet was shiny and red and a drop of pearly cum glistened on the end. He squeezed his fingers, panting as sweat gathered on his stubbly upper lip. He was close, he was so damn close. Rick watched the muscles in his forearm ripple under the strain. He was nearly there, nearly. He clenched his jaw and closed his eyes. No, not Lori, he tried to imagine anyone but Lori. He saw a man in his mind, muscular and naked. His body glistened his hair was damp. Fuck. It was Daryl. Ricks heart pounded a million miles an hour but it was too late now. 

"Oh fuck," Rick cried out, flinging his head back as ribbons of cum shot from the end of his cock.

"Oh... fuck..." he repeated, shuddering.


	12. Chapter 12

"You gonna drink that?" Stitch asked, nodding toward the 2 fingers of bourbon.

Daryl blinked, then looked down. Oh right, the drink. How long had it been there? He didn't remember ordering it. Did he even order it? He sighed and pushed it along the dented wood of the bar toward Stitch.

"Thanks man, but nah." 

Stitch frowned a little but nodded as he took the glass and had a sip. 

"So, what is it?" 

Sucking at his teeth, Daryl tried to make sense of the thoughts swimming around in his head. But he couldn't. Every time he tried, his throat closed up and his tongue went dry. 

"Nothin'," he said flatly and rose from his stool.

Nothing made sense any more. He was never the happiest person but every night that week, he'd laid awake, staring at the grotty ceiling of his bedsit. He'd barely eaten and booze was the lat thing on his mind.

He walked toward the door and had one hand on the handle when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned to face Stitch. 

"You know, I don't know much about this stuff," Stitch admitted, taking another sip of the drink. "But if she makes you feel like this, then you gotta stop wasting your time here and go to her." 

Daryl felt like he'd swallowed a dish sponge whole. His skin was hot and he shifted from foot to foot. He wanted to tell the old biker to shut the hell up. He wanted to tell him he didn't know what he was talking about and that he was poking his nose in she's it wasn't wanted. But Daryl remained silent. 

He turned his gaze to the door. Stitch was right and he knew it. Well, a few details were amiss but Stitch had hit the nail.on the head. A nail that Daryl didn't even realise needed driving in. 

He gave a curt nod, avoiding Stitch's gaze as he left the bar. He didn't know what he was going to do it but he knew he had to do something. Anything was better than sitting around a bar, wallowing in his own self pity.

Fuxk it. He was going to do it. Crunching his bike into gear, he sped off down the road in a cloud of dust and engine smoke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's short and sorry it's been a while.  
> Just had to get something written!


	13. Chapter 13

"What are you going here?" Shane asked, glowering.

"Looking for Rick," Daryl replied squaring his shoulders.

It was the first time he had ever walked into a police station voluntarily and already he was regretting his decision. It was hot and stuffy, despite the fan blowing in the corner. Dust glittered as it floated past the sun peaking through the broken slats of of the blinds. Shane folded his arms across his swollen chest and clean back against the wall, looking Daryl up and down with a sneer curling up his top lip.

" _Sheriff_ Grimes is unavailable right now. Anything I can help you with?" Shane asked although his question meant he was offering anything but help. 

Pressing his tongue to the back of his teeth, Daryl allowed his pulse to settle before he answered. What he wouldn't give to smack that smug grin look off the deputies face. Daryl didn't like mainly people, that was true and He liked cops even less but there was something about Shane that made him anxious. His beady black eyes were always watching and He has the poise of a tiger backed into a corner, constantly ready to tear your throat out at the slightest move, just like his father. Daryl suppressed a shudder. He shook his head, his fringe falling in his eyes.

"Nah, I will come back tomorrow."

Turning on his heel, Daryl halted at the snort from behind him. As much as he wanted to get out of there, curiosity stopped him. He turned back to Shane and cocked his head a little. He didn't trust himself to speak, he didn't really think the other man would listen if he did. Shane clicked his tongue and batted his eyes as though it was the tenth time he's had to explain the same thing. 

"I don't think the Sheriff will be available for a while." 

Daryl brushed his hand across his face. This guy was exhausting. 

"Where is he?" He asked, bristling but doing his best to hide his distain.

Shane's lips curved downward and he shrugged. 

"When he sorts his shit out, I supposed." Shane scoffed.

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a taster, if you would like some more, show me some love in kudos and comments =]
> 
> Excuse any spelling/ syntax errors, not writing on my usual pc atm.


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